


Grinding Rep: For the Alliance!

by drowsyfantasy



Series: Grinding Rep [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, F/M, Humor, Multi, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, POV reader, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-04-18 05:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14206050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowsyfantasy/pseuds/drowsyfantasy
Summary: After realizing you have to earn Exalted with these factions, you figure there just HAS to be an easier way to grind...and then it hits you. Consider this as an A/U in the Grinding Rep series (and not a direct prequel).





	1. Chapter 1

You’re awoken by bells from a bed you don’t recognize.

Slipping from under the blankets, you’re startled by the birds flapping by the open window, but swiftly manage to make your escape down the side of the building.

_Rogues really do have it better_ , you think to yourself as you touch the ground and hurry off. That’s one party you’ll never attend again.

This whole week is supposed to be partying it up in welcome of the long-awaited spring. Winter here is...never pleasant. Cold. Wet. Even if there’s not a ton of snow, it’s still a messy thing, full of soggy socks and holes in your boots. At least you’re not stomping around in full plate.

Stormwind couldn’t be a better home, at times. The white walls and blue roofs are comforting; every time you were traveling as a child, it was easy to find the Alliance bases. They all looked the same and while you were eight they were boring as hell, now, they’re favourably predictable, easy to navigate, easy to relax in, to feel safe. When Stormwind was re-built, your parents moved back immediately, with you in tow.

It’s been a long time since you were eight, but not _that_ long. You’ve only been living on your own for about a year now. Before, you lived with your parents, and then with a group of strangers as  you trained diligently. Then it was time to go off and prove yourself, and damn if you aren’t a bit of a coward about it so far.

You draw your cloak a little closer as you head down to the harbour’s market to buy breakfast. You haven’t left Stormwind much in the year you’ve been on your own; your first true taste of adulthood. Just a few quests, enough to make some money so you could afford a place to live and enough to keep your belly full. It’s still not great though, and you check your little enchanted book - the one your parents gave as your most precious gift when you left home - to see what’s on schedule for today.

Aside from your daily chores of clearing Murlocs off a lakeshore and Kobolds out of a cave, you’ve got nothing.

With a sigh you pocket it again and begin browsing the markets for food. It would be better if you _knew_ somebody, y’know? As a Rogue, you’re already going against the grain. If you could lift a sword and be a warrior, or if you were any good with magic you could’ve been a mage...but you’re not. Just enough for this.

Still, it gets you out of embarrassing hookups. The sex was shitty - you can tell because you’re still walking normally - and you’ve got a nagging itch that you _really_ need to take care of tonight. As you pick up your breakfast, you start looking around to see if there’s anybody here you can...pick up.

It’s slim pickings. Most of the sea-faring folk look and smell like their wares, and so far you’ve managed to restrain yourself from fucking a frozen fish, so that’s right out.

“Did you hear? High King Wrynn himself is supposed to be at the party tonight.”

“Really? He hates that. Must be Archmage Khadgar pulling his arm again.”

“Whatever. We can try to curry favour with him!”

_Ding ding ding_ . Bells go off in your head and a smile crosses your lips as you consider, paying for your food and taking it to go perch on the top of a wall to eat, tossing leftovers to the seagulls. King Varian Wrynn has been alone since the death of his wife many years ago, and with a son, he’s constantly busy between being a father and being the ruler of an entire kingdom, as well as a faction of races united against...well, the same on the other side. It’s still in your plan to finally _talk_ to someone on the other faction, somehow. Find out what they’re _really_ like.

But in the meantime, Varian himself is...well, if not _available_ , at least single. You have _no_ interest in being royalty (fuck that level of responsibility), but you’ve sometimes wondered if he’s more wolf than man in bed.

And hey, who other than a royal courtesan can say they fucked the king? For fun, anyway?

You shimmy off the wall and head south to the mines to get rid of more Kobold. Time to get to work anyway.

By the time late afternoon makes the sky pink and orange, you’re back in your flat, getting ready for the evening’s festivities. A proper rogue knows the dress code for all occasions, and though the slit on your dress goes up to your thigh, it’s only for easy access.

To your blades.

You head out towards the sounds of music and laughter, slipping past security with ease and snagging a flute of champagne from a tray, browsing the crowds.

Varian isn’t hard to find. Khadgar is doing party tricks for noble children and Anduin is among them, looking both excited and bored, as if he’s trying to hide his excitement at the old man producing shimmering butterflies and birds out of sparklers.

You were born with this thing where you kind of have no fear. At least, not when it comes to things like this.

“Cute, but small.” You lean in a little towards the king and nod conspiratorially. He merely raises an eyebrow at you as you go on. “Archmage!”

“Yes?” He turns to you, puzzled. He hasn’t seen you before at one of these parties.

“I bet you can’t make one of those sparklers into something any bigger than that.”

“Oh but I can!” He grins with glee, and the next animal to pop out is a rabbit, purple and glittery. The children squeal with happiness but you just sigh.

“Surely you jest.”

“How’s this?” Puppies bounce around from the sparks and the children go dashing across the lawn. Even prince Anduin is beginning to look amused.

“I feel I must require a nap. Wake me when he summons something interesting.” You drawl to Varian, and the king grins in spite of himself, turning with a smirk to Khadgar.

“You heard her. Impress us.”

Khadgar sputters with indignation and summons a horse. Prince Anduin _immediately_ runs off after it, and Khadgar yells something about it not being safe before taking off behind him.

“That was funny, but I’m still terribly bored.” You smile kindly, shaking your head. Varian softens.

“I know what you mean. I don’t like these parties. They’re for the younger ones, the ones who still have the energy and time and want for it.”

“Majesty, surely you still _want_ ,” you tease, shifting and sipping your drink.

“Hah! I must warn you, if you were sent by Greymane, I’ve no want for a courtesan these days.” He tries to let you down gently. “Genn, stop sending me pretty girls…”

“You mistake me. I’m here of my own free will, though I must admit a level of curiosity now.” You finish your drink and put the empty flute on a low wall. “Is it madness that prevents you from wanting a woman, or impotence?”

His cheeks flush, and his gaze hardens. You suddenly feel very much your station. “Watch your words carefully. Remember who you care to insult may not have the patience of a man.”

“On the contrary.” You lick your lips. “Perhaps it is the wolf I am here for.”

Varian’s face darkens, but a smile returns to his lips in spite of himself. “No woman wants a wolf.”

“You have spent time as a man and a wolf but never a woman,” you edge, “how can you know what a woman may want?”

“A woman enjoys the chase but not the monster at the end.”

“A woman enjoys letting the monster catch her because it is the woman who wants the wolf, not the other way round. If a woman didn’t want the wolf she would carry a shotgun.”

High King Varian Wrynn bursts into laughter, shaking his head and raising his hands in surrender. His smile at you is warm, amused, relenting.

“Now then. Shall I have the wolf chase me all over the lawn, or does he prefer privacy for his hunt?” you lean in, tugging at the corner of his coat and fingering a button.

“I believe, my lady, we are a pair of wolves,” he purrs in your ear, fingers dancing up your sleeveless arm, “let us run together tonight.”


	2. Chapter 2

When you wake up, it’s warm. Despite the cool morning breeze coming through the window, the tangled nest of blankets and limbs is keeping you quite comfortable.

Despite last night’s protestations, High King Varian Wrynn, it seems, is an _intense_ cuddler. He’s spooning you almost completely, arms wrapped around your middle, face against the back of your neck. He’s enormous and heavy and very, _very_ hairy.

You reach up one hand and gently trail a finger down his massive forearm, casting your mind back to the previous night. After smuggling you to his bedchambers, it sort of _did_ feel like two animals going at it. Glancing upwards shows you the bedcurtains barely hanging on to their posts, clothing all over the room - for some reason, one of your underthings is on a wall sconce? When did _that_ happen? _Who cares_ , you say to yourself, snuggling back down again. You’re sore in all the right places in the best way, but it’s not as though you couldn’t go again this morning if he were up for it. At this point you would’ve normally already left, but between his snuggly embrace and the fact that you fucked the _king_ is sort of stopping you.

Behind you, Varian makes a snorting noise and tugs you closer, a low whine in his chest, wolf. “Hey. Hey, it’s all right.” you turn as much as his grasp will allow, putting your palms on his cheeks. “You’re all right. I think you’re having a nightmare. It’s all right. Wake up…”

His blue eyes blink slowly open, and he rumbles deep inside, shaking his head. You kiss his nose and his face crinkles into a grin. “Good morning,” you offer.

“Morning already?”

“The sun’s up. That means it’s morning.”

“Mmm.” he glances over your shoulder at the window and then back at you. “I suppose that means it’s time to leave soon.”

“I tend to leave before he wakes up,” you admit with a laugh, “but Your Majesty’s embrace is like a tiger-trap. I found myself quite helpless to escape.”

“Maybe I didn’t want you to go just yet…” he noses your shoulder, nuzzling. You pet his hair gently, fingers stroking the length of it. Tied back, it’s long. Loose, it’s a mane. He’s a lion, he’s a wolf, he’s a man.

“I can’t stay forever. It would be vastly inappropriate. If I know myself I’m unable to give His Majesty a royal commitment to remain only with him, and it would be a disservice to your family and your kingdom if you kept me.”

“True.” he licks a bite-mark he left last night on your left breast, and you shiver. “It would be unfair of either of us to fall in love. But this is...comfortable. It’s nice to feel wanted, especially when - you promise you aren’t working for Genn?”

You laugh and shake your head. “No. I’ve never met the man in person. Perhaps I’ll have to...see to him next.”

“By the Light, woman, you are insatiable!” Varian seems amused, his hands migrating down your body to your hips.

“I seem to not be the only one.” you point out, feeling his fingers slip over your ass and towards the insides of your thighs. The ache seems to drop away as your body responds to his wandering digits. “I shall remember you most fondly, though.”

“I will not deny that I should like to see you again…” he murmurs, as you slide on top of him, sitting on his lower belly, watching him below you. “You are...interesting.”

“I am His Majesty’s loyal subject,” you chuckle softly, grinding up and down over his cock, getting him slick and wet, watching his face darken with desire. “Do not mistake passion for love, though.”

“I can love a friend without wanting to marry him,” Varian tightens his grip on your hips, grunting when you fist his cock and start to stroke, “and I can want a woman without needing her hand.”

“Then let my hands be free!” you laugh, pulling them off his cock. He makes a startled noise, a choked cry, and snarls at you. “See? No hands!”

“You - “

“You said you didn’t need my hand!”

Varian roars at you and flips both of you over, pushing you up against the headboard and spreading your legs, forcing you up on your knees. Your heart thrums in your chest, face hot with excitement and lust, grabbing a pillow and squirming. “Fuck me.”

For a king, he obeys orders well. Varian is not a small man, and his thick, heavy cock feels wonderful inside you, his body pressed tightly to your back as he thrusts in and out of you, one arm tightly around you while the other is planted on the bed for leverage. You want to laugh with exhilaration but he’s fucking the breath right out of you, leaving you gasping and just hanging on as pleasure floods your every sensation.

Varian whispers all manner of dirty things in your ear and you whimper in response; you can’t speak and he’s not far behind as his rasping growls become more and more feral until he’s just a snarling animal clutching at you, teeth in your shoulder, arms tight around you. Both of you are slick and slippery with sweat, rutting in his bed, and you nearly collapse as you start to come, knees shaking with pleasure and effort, your body pulsing and throbbing with it, all over. Varian is not long behind you, and you can feel him spilling inside you as he growls, filling you with hot pulses of his seed.

You gently lower yourself to the bed and he stays inside you as long as he can, until the cooling sweat makes it uncomfortable, and both of you have to awkwardly separate for a moment to clean up before he tugs you back to snuggle again. At this point the sun is fully up and above the horizon, and if he isn’t missed by now, he will be soon.

“I really have to go now…” you sit up, stroking his cheek. He watches you, quiet, contemplative. “But, if you like, I will promise you that I’ll see you again.”

“It would do a man well to have a friend like you.” he murmurs. “Even a wolf feels loneliness.”

You can’t help but lean over and kiss his mouth; it seemed too taboo last night - the two of you kissed everywhere but lips - he tastes warm and good and faintly of last night’s mead, honey. “Then I am your friend, Majesty, and I will run with the wolf.”


	3. Chapter 3

_You’ve definitely got a thing for elves,_ you think to yourself as you play idly with the hair of the snoozing night elf girl beside you. With her soft pink skin and long, fluffy white hair she looks a bit like she’s been sunburnt, but it’s definitely her natural colouring.

Darnassus is truly lovely at this time of year. Well, it’s beautiful _most_ of the time, as you’ve heard, but mid-summer? It’s absolutely stunning. Everything is every shade of green imaginable, with wildflowers growing everywhere. The breeze makes everything nice and cool, and you’re surrounded by fragrant scents of so many different types. Lucky you’re not allergic to anything.

Mid-morning finds you shopping in the marketplace and stopping by the Temple of the Moon to offer prayers and receive blessing. As a human you aren’t really expected to worship Elune, but she _is_ there, and you might as well. After all, you have to respect the gods of the people whose land you’re visiting.

As you kneel before the pool and recite a small, memorized prayer in Darnassian, movement catches your eye. The lovely, elegant figure of Tyrande Whisperwind is descending the stairs, and normally this wouldn’t be cause for alarm but for the way her hands are tightly balled into fists and the hulking, cowering figure of fur and feathers behind her.

_Forgive me, Elune, for spying_ , you taper off in your head, in Common, not really knowing how to translate that, and pretend to keep praying so you aren’t noticed. You can’t really understand their hurried, clipped conversation in the elven language, but the way Tyrande raises her delicate heel and digs it into the top of Malfurion’s foot speaks volumes. He twists up his face and does his best not to scream in public as she storms off in one direction and he limps off in another. The priestesses don’t look at him as he awkwardly hobbles to the doorway.

What can you say? You’re a caring soul.

Carefully, you pick yourself up and trail after him. Malfurion has hobbled a few steps before changing into an elk, and is walking a bit easier, though still with a limp. _Why hasn’t he healed himself yet?_ Stepping into the water, he lays down, dipping his head to drink.

You’re pretty sure he can see through your stealth, but whatever. You sit near him on the bank of the lake (there’s a lake on top of a tree in the middle of the ocean, that’s still amazing), watching him. After a minute, he inhales deeply, puts his head under the water, and exhales. The swarm of bubbles makes you laugh out loud, and he turns, lifting his sopping-wet elk head to look over at you.

“Why are you spying on me, human?” he asks, and it’s so friggin’ _weird_ to see an animal’s mouth move like that.

_Sympathy or sarcasm?_ The wheel of dialogue options in your head lands firmly on _sassy_. “I think Lady Whisperwind needs to work on her dance moves,” you reply, “so she isn’t always crushing her partner’s feet.”

His anger is predictable and swift. “Do not talk about Tyrande that way.” the elk grunts, rising to his feet. It appears he still hasn’t healed his foot though, and it slides in the mud, causing him to collapse again. His bulk as an animal is too top-heavy and he struggles for a moment before sighing and shifting back into his elven form, dragging himself up out of the water and sitting down on the bank nearby, finally healing himself in a soft green glow.

“Did you sleep through your anniversary?” You lay down on your back, arms beneath your head. You can see him glowering out of the corner of your eye. “Or did she wake up in a bed full of woodland creatures that she wasn’t expecting?”

“It was one mouse! One little fieldmouse!” he sulks, drawing his knees up. You sit up and look at him, about a foot away from you. He smells like lakewater and dirt. He’s a dreadful mess, with grass in his antlers and feathers. How much is growth and how much is dress? Whatever. “Well it _was_ one mouse…”

“Did he invite all of his mice buddies?”

“Yes, he did.”

You take a moment to chuckle over the image, then turn and gently put a hand on the night elf’s closest arm. His feathers ruffle a bit before settling again. “She’ll forgive you soon.”

“This _is_ her forgiveness. It was two weeks ago.”

You let out a low whistle. “Damn. And I bet you’ve spent the whole time apologizing, just to get to this point?”

He huffs and lays down, settling on his back. “I love her. But she has an...interesting way of seeing things.”

“Clearly.” a pause, then turning so you’re facing him. “Roll over. Your feathers are all battered.”

“Are you offering to groom an archdruid?” he chuckles, amused, but rolls over onto his stomach. You gently move his arm and start fixing the feathers, working all the little twigs and dirt out of his hair, and pulling a comb out of your bags to get the little knots out.

As he relaxes, it’s easier to groom him, and eventually you manage to get everything back into place. He sits up, inspecting himself, and seems surprised.

“Do you do this as a side-profession, human?” Malfurion inquires, amused, as he lifts a handful of long hair and it slides through his fingers like a silken waterfall.

“No, but I guess I should consider it!” you laugh, tugging him around to face you. You pause, hemming and hawing to yourself, then haul yourself into his lap and start combing out his beard. The intimacy of the position is not lost on the ancient elf, and he edges back a little, trying to keep it decent.

You take your time, squirming in his lap, deliberately grinding here and there, and though he seems wary at first, eventually, Malfurion rests his massive hands around your waist, and after a while, all pretense of you combing his beard is gone as you ride the bulge under his kilt. It isn’t enough, though, and you drop the comb to get under his belts and free his cock, tugging it out just enough to pull the head inside of you. He’s massive - too massive - and won’t fully fit, but it’s good as it is, and you throw your arms around his shoulders as he lowers you to the grass and starts really thrusting.

The bushes and trees around the lake hide you from prying eyes and you’re glad he’s massive enough to shove your face in his shoulder because _damn_ he’s good. He’s either not getting laid enough, or he’s getting laid so often that he knows exactly what to do, because his hands are all over you, the heat of his massive body on top of you making you sweat and arch up into him, the intensity pulling you apart.

“Mal- furion-” gasping as he manages to slide deeper into your wet pussy, catching his groan and feeling his whole body shaking above you. Before he can respond, you start grinding up against him, the texture of his belts rough against your skin and keeping your hand in place as you work your clit to the rhythm of his thrusts. His arms are just too big to fit between you like this, and besides, his mouth feels wonderful against your neck and shoulders. He’s not perfect, but he’s doing his best.

Despite the lack of co-ordination, you both come almost at the same time, and he holds you almost too tight, squeezing as he shakes and trembles. You wrap your arms around him, comforting as well as keeping yourself from completely collapsing into the grass.

You both wake up to fireflies and starry skies. You don’t want to move, but he rolls over and cleans off. Still, though, he rests at your side for a while and tells you all sorts of wonderful stories.

The night is spent learning bird calls under the light of Elune.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It was easy enough to sneak into Gilneas from the sea, and since you’re a rogue, you’re used to _sneaking_ around, invisible, but this...this is just sad.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to find here. Certainly not an empty, hollow space where a small kingdom’s people used to live. Sometimes an animal steps out of a doorway and the motion startles you, but you only really have to worry if they look diseased. Some of the stuff around here still oozes with plague, but most of it is just...empty.

Slowly, you climb your way to the top of the tallest tower, looking out over the city. By the time you make it there,  you’re feeling a bit light-headed, and as you lean out an open window to gaze on the city, and the wall beyond, and the smoke coming from the forest beyond…

“How did you get in here?” a gruff voice asks from behind you, and you nearly topple out of the window in surprise. A big hand catches you before you fall, though, and drags you back, turning to glare at you in the face.

_It’s_

_Greymane_

**_FUCK_ **

“Ummm...I’m a rogue.” you point out, sheepishly. “I came here to explore. I meant no harm, Majesty. Would you...would you mind, putting me down, please?”

He arches an eyebrow at you before rolling his eyes and releasing you, and with a yelp your feet hit the ground, a little more painful than you’d hoped. _Ow._

“You aren’t supposed to be here. Neither of us are supposed to be here.” he leans against a wall, his arms crossed, glancing between you and the open window, out over the kingdom. “But I can’t help it. I always come back here.”

“It’s a lot more depressing than I thought it would be. It’s gotten really run down. But I didn’t see any Forsaken - I guess they don’t live here?”

“No, they all live in Undercity and the surrounding areas.” he bristles. “If they tried to move in here, I’d rend them to pieces, myself.”

“Th-that’s completely understandable,” you quickly raise your hands and take a step back as he growls. “But we’ve been here a while now. Maybe we should think about heading out.”

“True. But we can’t leave by sea; there’s a storm coming.” he closes the window and gives you a look. “We’ll have to take the paths through the forest to the Western Plaguelands.”

“Aren’t we closer to the Highlands?” you frown, pulling your cloak back on and shrouding yourself in shadows.

“Yes, but there’s too many Forsaken and Horde to the south. If we go through the mountains we’ll encounter less resistance.”

Not an unreasonable assumption. It’s easy enough to make your way out of the tower and down through the lower city to the wall, but there, you encounter the main problem: while you’re nearly impossible to detect, Greymane is _very_ much visible, and uniquely identifiable. It takes all of your skills to hide him under short bursts of your own invisibility, but it fails at a crucial moment, and suddenly, it seems like half the Horde is on your tail.

Running and screaming isn’t quite your forte. You’re used to sprinting, and you’re winded after about a minute when _something_ grabs you from behind. You shriek and get ready to meet your makers - but instead, something warm and fuzzy has wrapped around you. _Tauren_?

_Worgen._

“Get on and _hold tight_ ,” Genn growls through his teeth, and you cling to his back as he bolts through the forest - sometimes on two legs, sometimes on four, and his speed makes you dizzy and you close your eyes tight against the blur of trees and the noise of footfalls and angry yells behind you gets further and further away.

He doesn’t stop until you can’t hear anything, and then he rolls and you fall off and he puts a paw, a claw-like finger to your lips. “Shhh.”

You suck in a breath, looking around, without making a sound. There’s no wind here, and the eerie silence doesn’t betray any movement around you at all. Slowly, slowly, you begin to relax again, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Greymane beside you is panting hard, his tongue out, like any other dog or wolf. Finally, he sits down, rumbling in his chest, seemingly satisfied that you lost your pursuers.

“Thank you. You saved us.” you quickly get out, watching him. He just sort of nods over at you, acknowledging what you said, but not responding. He doesn’t shift back to human shape, instead, begins picking at the ruined overcoat from the four-legged escape through the underbrush.

“I wonder if this can be tailored…” he murmurs as he gently removes the garment and begins folding it.

“Probably.” you suggest lightly as he packs it inside a bag at his waist. Despite the hairiness of his wolflike body, you can see multiple patches of skin where scars have stopped the growth of any new fur. A particular mark across his side draws your eye - and before you can stop yourself, your hand. “That looks so painful…”

He makes a grunting noise but doesn’t stop your hand or your touch. In fact, he only moves his arm a little to seemingly allow you further access. “They all were,” he says bluntly. “They all _are_. I don’t heal as well as I used to. I’m getting old…” he sighs, then shakes his head.

“I, er, notice you’re not changing back to your human self.” you tug your hand back, feeling self-conscious.

Greymane shakes his head. “A good deal of my clothing is enchanted to take the new shape when I change, but boots? Forget boots. Not with these.” he lifts a massive leg and flexes the paw of his foot. It’s similar, but different enough that you can see why it’s a bad idea to even bother trying.

“I see.” you nod, stretching. “I’m ready to keep moving whenever you are.” you pull out your little book, the enchanted map at the back giving you a rough idea of where you are: near the foothills of the mountain range separating the two halves of the northern continent. “We actually came pretty far. I must have lost track of time.”

“We’ll make good time if we continue,” he stands and stretches again, but his gait is pained, and you can see him wincing.

“On the other hand...we can make camp here.” you glance around at the small copse of trees. The wind has picked up again, and it’s starting to get cool. You can’t build a fire, so it’s imperative you find a way to block it. “Gimme that ripped shirt, Majesty.”

He sighs, but hands it over, and you start weaving it and other things through the trees, creating a little hut. Greymane bends and breaks branches until the small circle is quite warm, protected, and even comfortable.

The trouble is, it took most of your clothing with it, and while he’s hairy enough to hide pretty much everything, your small, pink, fleshy body is _showing_ pretty much everything. Without your clothes, you find yourself snuggling the warmest thing in the grove - the fuzzy, hairy wolf curled up beside you. You find yourself petting him, stroking his fur, and he doesn’t stop you, just watches as you explore his form. He’s different from both man or wolf, like this, and you think back to what Varian had said. _Why had he thought Greymane had sent you?_

You find what hurts when he whines as you brush your hand over his curled leg. He’s pulled a muscle or something, because there’s no wound, but you apply more pressure and his lip curls over teeth. “That _hurts_ ,” he snaps, but you keep massaging, and he grumbles but remains still.

“I know it hurts. Quit being such a big baby.” you scold him, and he growls but doesn’t attack you, and after a few more moments he settles back again, panting rhythmically, eyes closed. For an old wolf, he’s surprisingly cuddly, and it’s only half an accident as your hand slides from his leg to his hips. That, he opens his eyes at and peers at you down his long snout.

“Watch yourself,” he rumbles, making no move to stop you aside from his verbal warning. “If you go looking for things, you’re sure to find them.”

“I’m looking on purpose,” you respond calmly, and as you slide your hand lower, he jumps forward a bit. _Aha_ . “Besides, curiosity killed the _cat_ , not the _girl_.”

“Hmm. Will satisfaction bring her back?” he rumbles, and his claws are suddenly over your shoulders, finding yourself tumbled and pinned face-first into the forest floor.

“I don’t know,” you wriggle under him, trying to get free, but only playfully, hoping your grin can be heard in  your voice. “Can you really _satisfy_ her all that much?”

There’s no response, and you’re about to say something to follow up your witty back-and-forth, but a hot, wet, lashing tongue is suddenly applied to your naked, upturned pussy, and _fuck_ that’s good. The sudden motion and build-up has you whimpering, and you spread your legs for better balance and he lets go of your arms to grab your waist, keeping you in place. With your arms free, you can lift your head off the ground, and that’s better in terms of the smell at least, but you’re still dizzy with want as he opens you up with his mouth.

There’s no hint of teeth, just his perfectly heated, slick tongue against you, until you’re squirming and begging him to just get on with it. One of his front hands - claws? Paws? Comes up from your waist and rests on the ground beside your head as you feel him shifting on top of you and _oh holy fuck YES!_ The head of cock slides inside of you. _Ohhh that feels...different_ , you think to yourself, and it’s your last coherent thought as he starts thrusting, faster than a human male could move, and you close your eyes and _moan_ at the sensation of being filled like that, over and over, his thick, short cock not reaching too far inside of you but everywhere he hits, feels so good.

Some part of you idly wonders why he’s not as big this way, but even as you think it, something shifts, grinding against you, and your eyes fly open wide as he _pushes_ , and you realize _oh of course that’s why -_ and the noise he makes and the noise you make as his knot breaches your pussy and ties you together as he comes, a good few inches deeper than before, putting pressure in the best places and you’re coming too, scrambling in the earthen forest floor while he holds you in place and empties himself inside of you.

Both of you slump to the ground in the leaf litter, panting. You’re dripping with sweat but his fur is just sort of damp, and eventually when his knot goes down he rolls away, laying on his back for a while, and you sit up to try and wipe the muddy mess off with what little you have free.

Greymane chuckles. “Is the cat alive or dead?” he growls playfully.

You chuckle, feeling his cum leak out of you as your muscles contract in laughter. “The girl is alive, but _boy_ do you know how to slay pussy.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Walking through the Exodar is strange and beautiful. The Draenei are a beautiful people, and not just because most of them are your absolute favourite shade of pastel purple. They have a rich culture, and though they’ve been through so many difficult times, they seem to never lose hope. They keep their traditions strong, carrying on their ways, even on this, yet another planet on their journey. 

You really hope they stay. You’ve made some wonderful friends. 

Actually, that’s why you’re here. Stormwind has only a few Draenei living there, and you’re making a visit to the Azuremyst Isles on their recommendation. It’s a long way from home and quite out of the way, so you would have never thought to visit on your own. Darnassus, you suppose, is technically just as isolated, but the Night Elves have such a different culture about it. 

Of the two weeks you’re spending here, the first has gone by in a good speed. You’ve been able to explore the island and look at different Draenei settlements, talk to different professions and learn how each of them is different from the way other races do things. You’d known that the way they respect the Light and the Naaru dates back to when they were saved from the Legion attacking their world, but the details were really only shared when you sat down and had time to ask. 

Plus, you’d never actually  _ met  _ a Naaru until today. 

When you arrived at the Exodar, it seemed alive to you, though its cold crystal held no spark. The whole place sort of hummed, and there was an odd music. You didn’t really know why until someone told you to go down the ramp until you got to the very bottom. It had been such a long way that you’d given up the first day and come all the way back up. You thought it was a trick place, that went on and on forever. 

Turns out it wasn’t. Just a few more turns and then you understand. 

O’ros lets out a soft chime when you come into view.  _ So that’s where the sound was coming from _ . He’s not guarded in any way; there are no Draenei or anyone else between you and the enormous, free-floating collection of light and shape that is the Naaru here. It - he? - seems welcoming enough, and you walk right up to him. The sound is so loud here, and yet not overpowering. You want to close your eyes and lay down and nap, even though it’s mid-day and you had a good sleep last night. It isn’t making you tired, per se, but it  _ does  _ feel safe, it  _ does  _ feel right. 

You go right up to where the Naaru is hovering, and sit down beneath him, closing your eyes. Immediately, your mind is flooded with song and happiness and peace. You’re startled but manage not to fall over, trying to focus, but it’s difficult. Is the Naaru trying to communicate with you somehow? You let your eyes drift shut again. 

_ Tranquility. Relief. Joy.  _ Emotions wash over you in gentle waves.  _ Gratitude. Curiosity _ . You’re not the first human a Naaru has seen, but you have to wonder how many have come down here and done this on their own. Probably not many. Humans are kinda impatient that way. 

Rising to your feet slowly, you do your best to balance yourself, then reach up. The Naaru is out of range of your arms, but slowly, you can see him getting closer and closer as he hovers. He must be okay with you trying to touch him if he’s coming down to meet you, after all. 

He doesn’t really have a physical body, but your fingertips suddenly come in contact with something hard, and you’re hit by an even stronger wave of emotions, thoughts, feelings, and concepts. You stagger and have to choke back a bolt of nausea and dizziness and are almost overwhelmed. An apologetic wave, soothing and healing, with few words and mostly feelings, floods you and you take a few deep breaths before opening your mind once more. 

O’ros doesn’t really use words to communicate, even though you get the feeling he could, if he really wanted or needed to. He just doesn’t, and that’s okay, too. You tell him your name, and all about you, and he listens, and then a wave of love and affection and warmth flows from him as he responds, welcoming you. 

You can hear a voice, but it’s from somewhere way off in the distance, and it’s not O’ros, so you don’t pay attention. You and the Naaru are communicating, sharing happy thoughts and experiences, and you’re  _ busy _ . 

You’re wrenched violently out of the blissful state by a hand on your shoulder, pulling you away from the floating Naaru. Your eyes snap open at being torn away from such a wonderful experience, gasping, nearly throwing up again. 

“What are you doing, human?” maybe there  _ were  _ supposed to be guards, after all. You can’t manage to look up; you’re still wheezing, hands on your trembling legs, head swimming and stomach threatening to revolt. “What are you trying to do to O’ros?” 

“N-no-nothing!” you pant, staggering to stand upright, struggling to gesture vaguely in what you hope is O’ros’ direction. “W-we were just...thinking together!” 

“Thinking together?” the voice is skeptical, harsh. The heavily-built Draenei in front of you do not look happy. This could be the end…

“Beraan. Unhand her.” a gruff voice orders, in a soft, low tone, from somewhere behind you. “She has done nothing wrong. O’ros called to her. Let her go.” 

“As you say, Prophet.” the two in front of you back off, and head down to the bottom of the ramp again. The Prophet - Velen, the leader of his people, approaches you gently from the side. He either was there and you didn’t notice him, or he showed up with the other two. Maybe they were having a meeting together. His sleeves are together, his hands hidden beneath them. Despite his ancient age, he walks without a limp or cane. His faith in the Light must keep him strong. 

“Prophet Velen,” you try to bow, but are hit by another wave of nausea and he quickly comes to you, his hooves tapping along the ground. He holds you upright, and keeps you steady as you sway again. 

“It is all right, child.” he soothes you, and takes your hand. Instead of healing you himself, though, he raises your arm and O’ros joyfully comes down to meet you again, letting himself be touched by both of you, together. 

The Naaru’s touch fills you with strength and you’re able to stand fully upright again - strong, whole, and repaired. He sings a song of apology in your head, sounding like soft bells and wind chimes. You stand like that, with your hand raised and Velen at your side with an arm around you, for what seems like forever. Maybe it  _ is  _ forever. Time seems to pass differently when your mind is being shared with an ancient being. Well, with two ancient beings, considering that Velen is there as well. You can see his true self, shining, without age, without limits. He doesn’t look like a young man so much as he just looks like  _ himself _ , if he didn’t have a body, as strange as that sounds? It’s just another level of magic and mysticism, and it’s not hurting anyone or anything. 

Eventually, O’ros gently advises you that he’s going to let you go, as he knows you wanted to do other things. Instead of being brutally cut off like last time, though, it feels like he’s gently pulling away, like the tide receding from a beach, each wave cresting further and further out until you can lower your arm without feeling like you’re going to collapse.You feel refreshed and restored, still sturdy on your feet, and Velen tightens his arm around you. Maybe he’s a bit weakened from the experience? 

Still, something feels a bit strange. You look down, and the guards are different from before as you and Velen walk away from O’ros. The sound of wind chimes in your head slowly softens, but never fades completely, and you hope you’ll always have a connection to such a wonderful being. 

The guards greet Velen in their native language, and they look relieved to see him again. As he continues to walk with you, he chuckles. “Did they seem alarmed to you?” 

“A bit…” 

“It has been three days.” 

“THREE DAYS?!” You yelp, everything inside you going nuts. “Three days down there?” 

“O’ros took care of all your needs while you were connected with him. Your hunger, your thirst, your need for sleep. I often come to him, to meditate and to pray, when I am having trouble sleeping.” Velen points out. “The Naaru are beings of Light, and are watching out for us.” he smiles fondly. Both of you are making your way up the long, winding spiral ramp to the main floor, and yeah - it’s been a few days. The market that was set up is long gone, and it’s back to boxes and storage units. Absolutely incredible. 

Velen hasn’t let go of your waist. Normally, the Draenei are much taller than you, but tens of thousands of years have done a number on the Prophet’s body, and he’s only a little big bigger than you are. It’s a good angle, and despite everything, you still see him in the same way you did through O’ros: ageless, strong, and beautiful. It’s actually kind of embarrassing how handsome he is like that, and when you were with the two of them, you didn’t feel self-conscious at all. You’re sure your desire was palpable, and now that the two of you are back in the outside world, well...you can feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment at the thought of Velen knowing you have the hots for him.  _ Does he remember? Of course he remembers. We were in each others’ minds.  _ You wince.  _ He probably thinks I’m some sort of crazy human slut, he knows my entire past… _

The both of you walk in silence past the main areas and then down a set of stairs into a more private area. Velen pulls you into a much cozier room, settling down with you on some cushions. He tucks his tail artfully out of the way, his goat-like hoofed legs folded under him in a meditative style. 

“I’m, uh, sorry about earlier,” you can’t look him in the face, though you can hear him chuckling. 

“Do not apologize, child.” he soothes you. “You have done nothing shameful in my eyes. If O’ros did not want us to see each other, he would have separated us, blocked our thoughts, prevented us from seeing memories. There must have been a reason for us to share our minds like that.” 

“He’s a terrible dating service.”  you quirk an eyebrow, and Velen laughs again, easily and freely, shaking his head. 

“I do not think that was his intention.” Velen points out with a smile, continuing. “As interesting as he might find it, I do not think you are looking for a partner in me.” 

“Uh-uh.” it’s your turn to shake your head. “I’m not looking to really get into a relationship, and now that I know your memories...I don’t think you are, either.” 

Velen nods sagely. “Still, it is nice to know that I am not rendered terrifying and hideous by age.” a faint smile remains on his lips. “Nor am I impotent by it.” 

Oh,  _ that  _ makes you red. “Really? Tens of thousands of years old and you can still, uh, you know what, never mind.” you look away, coughing into your hand. 

Velen just laughs again, watching you. “Does it make you uncomfortable, knowing that ancient ones can still feel love, still feel desire? Still want to  _ be  _ desired?” 

“Prophet, are you propositioning me? Me, of all people? Doesn’t this normally go the other way around?” 

“I am doing nothing. I am explaining.” Is he smirking, that bastard? “You are not leaving for a few more days. If nothing happens, then nothing will happen. If everything happens, then everything will happen. It is up to you, child.” he places his lips on your forehead, a kiss of benediction and blessing.  _ To hell with it _ , you think to yourself, and nudge up to meet his lips with yours.  _ I wonder if O’ros likes to watch _ , is your next thought, as you climb up into Velen’s lap and slide your arms around his shoulders.  _ He certainly could _ . 

Velen kisses in the best, most soft and gentle way, conveying passion through skill rather than hunger. In fact, everything he does is through skill, so talented it almost seems accidental. His robes are open and it’s just the way you’re sitting that your skirt is up, and it’s ridiculously romantic that you can feel his cock nudging against you, almost as though he was rising to meet you. You glide against him a few times before you can feel him inside of you, and you just wrap your arms and legs around him and rock against him. 

It’s like being washed away on slow, gentle waves of pleasure, his breath against your cheek, his beard tickling your neck. Both of you are still fully dressed, or thereabouts, but it’s still incredibly intimate, and makes you shiver as you approach your orgasm. It’s less powerful than usual, but no less intense, and Velen clings to you for a while as you both come down, rubbing your back, little soothing whispers. You wish you could connect to him through O’ros again, through his mind, but this was gentle and goods in its own way, too. 

And what the hell, you’ve still got a few more days before you have to go home. 


	6. Chapter 6

The deck of the ship rolls with the ocean beneath your feet as you look out over the railing. Theramore lies just out of reach on the shore, marshlands beyond it, and beyond that, you can see mountains in the distance. The interior of Kalimdor still seems like a wild adventure to you, and despite your numerous visits to the northern reaches, you still haven’t made time to sneak around the Horde-controlled areas. 

Maybe someday. 

You can see and hear children laughing and playing as you carry your bags down the gangplank to the dock, chasing each other around the harbour. Families and soldiers are at ease here, mostly just serving to help each other. It seems that you might be the only one on duty. 

Ever since your royal rendez-vous, you’ve actually had more to do. Last week you got a letter asking you to run some secret correspondence to Lady Jaina Proudmoore regarding...something. Varian wouldn’t tell you what it was, only that it was important that she got it. Figuring that they’d know if you opened it, you kept the letter sealed and took it with you. 

It’s easy enough to find Jaina’s base of operations. The tower is the tallest thing for miles around, and no one stops you as you walk inside. The guards glance at you but say nothing, and aside from a few mages batting spells back and forth, you’re alone as you head to the top of the tower. 

Lady Jaina Proudmoore is currently in a quiet but heated debate as you manage to climb the last stair. You’re not winded, but you’re definitely feeling it in your calves. Perhaps they merely teleport themselves to the top floor around here…

“Lady Proudmoore.” You cautiously interrupt, during a natural pause in their conversation. Both of them look over at you. “I come bearing a letter from His Majesty, High King Varian Wrynn. It’s a private, urgent matter, I’m afraid.” 

Her brow clouds, and her debate partner takes the opportunity to escape as she walks over to you, her robes and dress swishing. As you hold out the letter, she takes it, breaking the seal and turning her back while she reads it. You lean against the banister and look over the edge. A mistake, looking away; it was dizzying to see the whole way down. Normally heights don’t bother you, but the twisting weird staircase is throwing you off-balance. 

“Of all the…” she crumples the letter in her hand, then sighs and with a wave of her hand, it vanishes. “What a thing to have to deal with…” 

“My Lady?” you attempt from behind her, but she just shakes her head. She obviously can’t tell you what it was about, and considering her reaction, it’s probably in your best interests not to try to pry it out of her. 

“Thank you.” She turns and looks at you, sort of sad, sort of dull. “For the delivery, I mean.  _ Varian… _ ” she rubs her forehead with her hand. Closer like this, you can see the bags under her eyes, and her golden hair is dull against her face and shoulders. 

“The High King can be...interesting at times.” You offer, and she blinks and stares at you, narrowing her eyes. 

“What would  _ you  _ know about it?” She demands, then winces and softens. “I apologize. There’s no reason for me to be rude to you…” 

“Ah, it’s all right. I’m used to dirty looks. Rogue.” You grin at her and she chuckles a little. “Some of the things I’ve seen...but yes, he  _ is  _ an interesting man.”

“I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of interesting men…” Jaina replies dully as she turns to the side, rubbing her forehead again. “It’s enough to turn a girl into a hermit…” 

“Oh, My Lady, see, the problem is, is trying to have a  _ relationship  _ with an interesting man. What you need is an interesting man to bed, and a boring man to wed.” You nod sagely. “Either that, or give up men altogether and start bedding women.” 

She stares at you like you’ve grown another head. Still, she pauses before responding. “I’ve...never considered that.” Jaina says lightly. 

“Oh, you’re missing out.” You nod sagely. “To be honest, I’ve found it much more relaxing at times. No threat of pregnancy, no prick to fall asleep and leave you unsatisfied, and no beard burn.” 

Jaina chokes in her throat, then laughs, blushing. “All compelling reasons, I’m sure. But I’ve no idea what to do with…” 

“Sure you do,” you take a step closer while she’s watching you. “You know what to do with your own, don’t you? It’s the same thing. Parts is parts.” 

“Oh, well I...I’ve just sort of...always let...him lead.” She’s watching you move, curiosity and nervousness battling in her voice and face. 

“Well, you could let her lead too, My Lady, and just see where it goes from there…” you’re so close now that you could almost touch her. She’s tall, graceful, and smells like roses. “Put into practise what a good lover has done for yours.” 

“For my…” her eyes widen and her blush deepens, lovely against her cheeks, and when you lean in to kiss her, she doesn’t pull back. Her mouth is warm, soft, and sweet, and she gives in to the kiss with curiosity winning out over any fear she might have had. You can feel her arms resting on your shoulders and upper back, and you tug her in a little further. 

“Mmm, but not here,” you say, grinning. “A private space is required for something like this. Unless the great Lady has an exhibitionist streak?” 

Jaina swiftly shakes her head and with a shimmer, you’re both in a small room with no doors, just windows, a bed and dresser and tiny little dry-bath off in one corner. Clearly her most private chambers. “Perfect.” 

“Kiss me again,” she orders, breathless, and you have to grin at her bossy nature as you oblige, your fingers finding the clasps of her cloak and letting the fabric slide off of her shoulders. She works on you at the same time, but she takes a step back, hesitating, when you’re both down to your underthings. 

“Jaina.” You take her hand, calm, reassuring. “Jaina, if you want to stop, it’s all right.”

“No, I...I don’t want to stop,” she admits, breathily, “just that I...I don’t know what to do next.” 

You chuckle softly and kiss her again, gently pushing her shoulders until she sits on the bed. You crawl into her lap, straddling her, undoing her bra and cupping her breasts. She watches you, that little pink flush back on her cheeks, as you slowly kiss down from her collarbone to her nipple, and she lets out a little breathy moan. Releasing her other breast, you slide your hand down over her stomach between her hips, and she’s wet already, excited, pleased. You play with her wet lips through the fabric of her underwear for a moment as she whimpers and squirms, jerking a bit under your touch as you suck on her nipple. 

You can feel her trembling fingers work at getting your bra off too, and for a while, she just sort of tentatively feels and cups at your breasts, her thumbs occasionally grazing your nipples. Despite the lack of touch, it’s one of the most intense things you’ve ever felt, and you help Jaina lay down on the bed in the pillows, sliding on top of her, your thigh between her legs as you both grind on each other for a few minutes, kissing and gasping, the wet drag of both your panties against hot, sensitive skin until you can’t take it anymore. Sitting up, you wriggle out of your panties and tug hers off until you’re both naked. When you look back at her again, Jaina’s closed her thighs and you rest your hand on one. 

“Want to stop?” you offer. 

She shakes her head, and, chest heaving, parts her thighs. You can almost hear the noise it makes as her slick pussy is spread open again, and you hungrily roll between her legs and bury your face in it. You close your eyes; it’s sweet and salty and good, so hot and wet for you, as you use your thumbs to keep her open and lap at her trembling flesh. Jaina moans and squirms and lets out muffled cries as you eat her out, getting louder as you seal your lips around her clit and suck, culminating in a wail as you glide two fingers into her tight pussy, ready for you and clenching around you tightly. 

Her hands tangle in your hair as you fuck her diligently, listening attentively for when she moans the loudest and jerks with sensation, and doing that over and over until she stiffens and gasps and  _ comes  _ into your face, leaving you a dripping mess as you chuckle and pat her pussy fondly, making Jaina shudder and close her thighs around your hand, little keening noises as you extend the aftershocks of her orgasm. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she gasps, trying to squirm away from the wet spot. “I’ve, that’s never happened before!” 

“But it was good, right?” You grin up at her, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. She blushes, nodding. “Good, then everything’s fine. Want to try it for yourself?” 

Jaina hesitates, then nods. You move over, finding a dry spot, as Jaina crawls down and gets comfortable between your thighs. The first moment or two, she scrutinizes your pussy, as though trying to decide what to do first. It’s almost hilarious, with the expression on her face. 

“Here,” you help her out, spreading your lips open and exposing your aching clit. “Start here, move around, but always come back to it and you’ll get good results.” 

It  _ is  _ good when she finally disappears into your pussy and you feel that hot mouth around your flesh. An embarrassing noise leaves your mouth as you feel her moving, eager and unskilled but enthusiastic. You play with a nipple and keep the other hand in her hair, helping her and guiding her, moving her as you need her, giving her instructions. 

When you tell her to fuck you, she brings a hand up and puts a single finger in, and you clench and whine and it’s not enough and you tell her  _ more, more,  _ and she adds a second, and you drag your heel into her back until she’s fucking you with three fingers, and you’re  _ so close  _ and Jaina comes up to admit her arm is getting sore and you’re  _ dying  _ but you say it’s okay, just hold still, just curl your fingers up and suck and she does and your head hits the pillows again and you’re coming with a wail of pure pleasure, coming apart on the blankets, and she takes her hand away too soon and you’re left clenching around nothing but ultimately it’s okay, she did good for her first time, and you pull her up for snuggles, still shaking with the intensity of it all. 

“I want a nap,” Jaina murmurs, “and then I want to do it again, and I want to do it again and again and again…” 

“Well, I don’t have to report back for at least a few more days,” you chuckle, tossing a leg over her hips. “There’s lots more where that came from.” 


	7. Chapter 7

It’s late afternoon, and you’re thinking about dinner, by the time you arrive at Ironforge. Dun Morogh paints a beautiful wintery scene below you as the gryphon circles and finally heads inside the great city. 

The temperature change is so dramatic that even before it touches down, you’re pawing to take off your outer layers, staggering from the flight master and dumping your hat, mittens, scarf, and other knits into your bag, trying vainly to look like a pro and not like a hapless tourist. 

Battering and clanging draw your attention to the forge, and, ignoring the rumbling in your stomach, you head towards the centre of the platform above the runoff chambers and into the fray. Amidst the noises of metal-on-metal is the bustle of people, mostly dwarves, and you’re careful not to bump into anyone or get in the way as you observe. 

Near the middle of it all is someone trying to flatten the side of an axe, and it looks like he’s struggling. He can barely hit the thing, and when he is, he’s not hitting it in the right place - even you can tell. He keeps flattening out too close to the centre, and the edge is going to shatter right off if he tries to sharpen- 

“Enough!” A sharp, loud female voice snaps, and the young man is bustled to one side. “You’re wasting time and iron! Get out of the way, and watch me!” 

Curious, you edge a little closer. You’d never seen her working like this before, and despite the layer of sweat and dark grit on her face from working in the forge, Queen Regent Moira Thaurissan is unmistakable. Her skill is also undeniable - not only is she fixing his seemingly terrible axehead, but she’s actually putting more shape into it than it had before, using the tools with passion and a refined touch you really should have expected, considering her surroundings. 

You’re not the only one who’s stopped to watch. By the time she’s finished, half the forge has been ignoring their own projects to witness this. Big mistake though, as she pivots and orders everyone back to work before they waste another moment. 

Biting back a grin, you watch her as she heads away from the anvil and catches your eye. “Ah!” her expression changes from irritated to relieved. “My apologies. I’m sorry you had to see that. It’s just that this -” 

“It’s all right.” You walk with her as she catches up to you. “I’m impressed, Ma-” 

“Oh, just call me Moira.” she looks up at you brightly, then nods as she continues to walk. “I know this might come as a shock to you, being from the human kingdom, but I’m not much for titles among friends.” 

“I’m honoured that you would consider me a friend to you, considering this is the first time we’ve met in person outside of Stormwind’s events,” you tease gently as she leads you out of the forge and through a series of passageways. 

“Word spreads of your counsel to the monarchy,” she teases right back. “And as far as the public knows, it’s just counsel. Still, I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve been having an intensely stressful time lately and the council is just…” she sighs, her expression changing to irritation. “And I’m a mess now,” she examines her hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare myself for dinner.” 

“Take your time.” you gently reassure her. “I’ll just ask a guard where I should sit and wait.” 

After a short time she re-joins you, and both of you settle at a small table. It’s a much more intimate setting than any other royal dining, but there’s a lot of things to discuss. Despite only having chatted briefly with her at other events before, apparently both of you have a lot in common and she’s quick to laugh at your jokes, put at ease by your professional but warm manner. 

“If you had any interest in blacksmithing we’d keep you here,” Moira playfully threatens as both of you leave the table and head deeper into her chambers. 

“Believe me, Moira, had I the ability, I would be putting my irons into the heated forge over and over,” you snip back, and she rolls her eyes and laughs. Somehow, even this latest royal booty call doesn’t feel like manipulation of any sort, and when she bids you sit down on her bed while she goes about getting a few things ready, you take a moment to think about how far everything has come. Stress relief and good conversation are a welcome change from sneaking around the shadows for a few gold coins now and then. 

Moira returns to the bedroom in a sexy set of lace, and you can’t help but admire her. She poses for a second, then laughs gaily, coming over to you and gently easing you down onto your knees. It’s a smooth transition, and you nuzzle her soft hip before starting to worship her through the negligee. 

“I so rarely have a chance to wear this…” she murmurs above you as you toy with the little buttons, lips slipping underneath the lace to trace over her skin. “Some days I don’t feel like a woman at all, just another bundle of earth come to life to work the forge.” 

You pause, watching her face. “Moira, of course you’re a woman. And you should absolutely be able to feel like one, any time you choose.” You rub  your cheek against her hip, smiling. “A woman can be anything she wants, and tonight, she’s beautiful and royal and perfect.” 

This seems to calm her, soothe her, and eventually you work her back to sitting on the bed over the side, her legs spread. Licking and lapping at her through the lace makes her shiver, finally squirming so hard you have to just take the whole thing off. It’s hard to get her to stop shaking, so you roll onto your back on the bed, letting her sit on your face. The heat is like the heat of the forge, sweet and musky and feminine, closing your eyes and eating her out until she comes, laying her back down, kissing her breasts and stroking her curves and telling her how beautiful she is, how perfect, how soft. 

While she recovers from her first orgasm, you tend to the rest of her, sucking on her nipples, continuing to nuzzle at her breasts and praise her, a blessing of kisses down her stomach and over her hips to her inner thighs, finally your fingers back inside her, fucking her out as you work her clit and leave your mouth free to wander. She holds your head and tugs at your hair and cries out, but it’s all good, and despite the lack of reciprocation, you feel good, satisfied, happy. It’s easy enough to move out of the wet spots and back up to the head of the bed, and she starfishes with a huge grin on her face, that perfectly coiffed hair all over the pillows in a beautiful mess. 

You’re sure no other counselor has ever had this much fun. 


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m terrified.”

It’s the middle of the night, and High King Anduin Wrynn is sitting at the foot of your bed, curled up in a small ball, holding his knees. The boy is younger even than you were when you first set out on your journey - still in his teens - and though he was born to be king, to fill this role, he seems so tiny and so frightened.

You have to pull him in for a hug, and he rests his head on your shoulder for a minute. Even though you were never a substitute for his mother, over the years, he’s come to respect you and trust you to be an advisor. “It’ll be difficult, but I think you can do it. If anyone can broker peace with the Horde, it’s you.”

“I was so worried when I got the letter.” he unrolls it, and sits beside you, reading it for what seems like the millionth time. A small, rolled-up parchment bearing the seal of the Warchief of the Horde - Baine Bloodhoof, chosen by Voljin’s proclamation just before his death. The Loa, it seemed, wanted someone strong, noble, and young. Either that, or they were messing with everyone.

“You’ve carried it for three nights, and we’re leaving now.” you acknowledge, as you finally let him go to rise from the bed and pull on your leathers. He politely turns his head until you finish dressing, and put your arm around his shoulders in a friendly way. “I thought you’d be excited to see your friend.”

“It’s not Baine I’m terrified of.” he grins weakly. “Come on, Velen’s waiting outside and Khadgar is ready with the portal.”

It’s truly incredible how much the world has changed over the years. It seems like just the other day you were setting out on your journey, finally seeing the world the way you’d always dreamed you would. Azeroth is vast, and you’ve criss-crossed every continent, sailed across the friendly oceans, and even stepped foot on other worlds. Yet here, the most important things remain.

The world on the other side of the portal is dark and cold, misty over the land. You and Anduin are carrying torches, and Velen using his staff to light the way. Guards flank you on either side and behind you, and you finally spot the greeting party - Baine and Varok Saurfang, and a young-looking green-skinned orc warrior beside him. Her long black hair is wild across her shoulders and her teeth would be more scary if she wasn’t looking so calm - and tired. Probably just as tired as you. She and you make eye contact for a moment, and there’s something familiar about the way she holds herself.

Anduin says something in Orcish - you really wish you had had the chance to learn more of it - and Baine extends an enormous hand, and the four of them troop into a covered tent together. Every guard stands outside, forming a perimeter, staring uneasily at each other and then out into the foggy shadows of night.

You and the orc warrior are the only ones left outside of the tent. She peeks inside, lifting the flap. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be inside or not, but surely they’ll invite you if they need you.

“ _My Orc bad_ ,” you attempt an apology to the young woman. “ _No school Orc_.”

“Then you’re lucky I speak Common,” she drawls, and you’re stunned for a moment before frowning.

“You were going to let me babble my way through nonsense the whole time?”

“Well, I was going to give you a few more minutes and continue to laugh at you in my head, but then I realized it wouldn’t go well for diplomacy.”

“Diplomacy?” you take a chance to glance inside the tent nervously, biting your lip. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I think the best have come together,” she gently tugs you away from the tent door, letting the flap of canvas fall shut. “You don’t look like a guard.”

“Neither do you.” you tilt your head, looking down at her. “I didn’t know Saurfang had a daughter.”

“He doesn’t.” she shakes your head. “I’m more of an...advisor.”

Really? But she looks so young. Is she even older than Anduin? She must be, but probably not by much… “An advisor, huh?” you considers, then grin a little. “Well, I’m sort of like that, too. An _intimate_ advisor.”

“You’re not going to believe this,” she blinks, then laughs. “But I think we’re the two most famous whores in all of Azeroth.”

_Woah_. “Hey, I object to being called a whore,” you retort, feeling your cheeks heat up.

The orc laughs at you. “I mean that affectionately. I’m semi-retired now, but I guess they called me back into active duty for this.”

“Same here.” You nod. “I’m not as young as I used to be…” How long has it been, really? You look down at your hands. You’re still strong, nimble and agile, but your age is starting to show. You’ve got wrinkles and lines that weren’t there when you started this venture. You ball your hands into fists, feeling the muscles respond immediately. At least you’re still strong.

“I think you’re lovely,” she waves her hand at you, breaking your reverie, “and you must have been stunning back in your day.”

She’s sweet. “You’re terrible,” you respond. “Thank you. Why did you retire, then? You still look so young.”

“I got married.” she glows at you, putting her fist on her breast. “To the most gorgeous Nightborne woman you’ve ever seen.”

“To be honest, I’m a bit jealous. I thought for certain that the Shal’dorei people would rejoin their Night Elf fellows in the Alliance. But then-”

“Tyrande.”

Your stomach turns over. “I don’t know if she feels any remorse for it or not, either.”

“Who can say? In any case, the Blood Elves seemed a better fit.”

“Oh right, because of their addiction to magic.” Your mind goes immediately to Eleina, and her wicked, wild grin. She was so dashing, and helped you a lot on cold nights on the Broken Shore... “I’m glad they were able to get the help and support they needed. I’d always wanted to meet a Blood Elf. Talk to them for a while. It was amazing in Dalaran...and now I want to visit my friends, back in their home…”

“You may yet get your chance.” you spot the tent flap opening, and Anduin pops his head out, his ponytail loose over his shoulder. “If they can negotiate some treaties, you might even be able to visit Quel’thelas in the fall. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Please, come in.” Anduin urges, and you get up to follow him. When the rogue joins you, he seems surprised.

“She speaks Common better than I do,” you laugh, and the High King shrugs, then opens the tent for both of you. You settle down beside Anduin, and the warrior sits opposite you with a grin.

“We’re looking for ways to explain what we want.” Saurfang notes, looking between the two of you. He repeats everything in Orcish and Common, for the sake of all involved. “Not just to each other, but to begin negotiations with all our peoples.”

“Then you’ll have to be patient,” you lean on your elbow, shaking your head. “Some people may take longer to agree than others. But, still…” you glance across the warm little fire to the orc warrior “...I think that the more we talk to each other, they’ll realize they have more in common than they believed.”

“Wise words.” Velen nods.”We are, all of us, eager and ready to make peace. Some of us, more than others, want all the fighting to end, for the sake of the family...the family we have left.”

“An end to war…” Saurfang muses. “Some will celebrate. Others will be angry.”

“Let them be angry. We make peace for them, most of all.” the young orc warrior proclaims, bold and serious. “We can make peace without losing honour and strength. We just proved that to ourselves, with how we worked together to defeat the Legion. It’s the same people making war. They might be a harder sell, but I guarantee you - those who made friends and lovers - will want them back.”

You give her a grateful look, and she reaches across the tent to squeeze your shoulder.

“Today, we are sisters.” she nods.

“Yesterday, we were sisters too,” you agree. “And the day before that, and the day before that. We were _always_ sisters. We just didn’t know it.”

She bursts into laughter, and you grin right back at her, clasping her arm, squeezing the muscle like she is on your shoulder. Saurfang says something to her in Orcish, and you can’t understand it, but the look she has on her face says all you need to know.

It was worth it.

It was all worth it.

 


End file.
